


Another Secret

by KoolJack1



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Kink, Mild Painplay, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoolJack1/pseuds/KoolJack1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Abigail have another secret to keep between the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Secret

Hannibal prepares meals like they're works of art; that never makes sense to her since it's going to be eaten. Food can look decent, but it isn't really around long enough to be enjoyed, she thinks. Watching him now, his hands moving swiftly yet cautiously and meticulously, she can't help but picture a sculptor attempting to carve a delicate statue. "Why make it look so nice, when it's only going to be eaten anyway?" She asks innocently, his eyes glancing up from his work to meet hers.

"Ah, Abigail," he smiles his charming smile at her, and her lips automatically pull into a smile of her own, "Food is much more than just taste, the nicer it looks, the better it tastes. The quality of the meal goes beyond the taste, it's the presentation. It's something you cut into and savor each piece; a meal should be enjoyable for each sense. Texture, smell, the presentation, the taste, even the sound of it sliding off the fork." Never in her life has she met someone who can make the most simple thing sound like an elaborate poem.

His eyes leave hers and glance down at her hands, she hadn't realized she was subconsciously running her fingers along the blade of a sharp knife, "Please do be careful not to cut yourself." His voice is concerned, yet he doesn't move the blade from her. He's interesting like that, he'll remind you not to do something, but he never outright tells you not to. He never stops her from doing anything, he leaves the choice completely up to her. He suggests she stays at the hospital, or with her group, but that's just it; it's a mere suggestion. If she declines, insisting coming to his house is what she wants, he doesn't say no. He wishes for her to eat what he cooks, but if she'd rather something else he'll take her to get whatever she wants, he'll even pay for it.

She keeps stroking the blade, watching her fingers now. When she glances back up at him, he's back to looking down at his work; his own hand wielding a blade of it's own. "I really want some chocolate." She's not sure where the craving came from, but she can only assume it's for one reason. She wonders if he'll understand that.

"I have some I prepared myself, I can make you chocolate covered strawberries if you'd like," he says kindly, his eyes never looking up.

"Like a chocolate bar," she continues, picking up the blade and examining the edge.

"I'm afraid I don't have those, but I'll gladly take you to get one after we eat," he never gets angry. He never says no, he never doesn't answer. He never gets tired of explaining things to her, he never tells her to stop asking him questions. She's made it her goal, to see where his patience ends; to see how much she can push him until he cracks. Her parents used to have no patience, a few questions to her mom and she got 'not now, Abby.' Hannibal never didn't have time for her, she could show up whenever and he welcomed her with open arms. She could ask him a million questions about his food and his books and himself and he'd answer each of them. Sort of, at least. Some answers weren't really answers, answers that actually answered anything at least.

"I don't really know anything about you," she says, looking up from the blade just as he looks up at her. He's smiling slightly again, she loves that she makes him smile.

"You're train of thought travels very quickly, Abigail. You know very much about me."

She finally puts the knife down, and his eyes follow her hands for a moment before looking back up at her, "I only know the same stuff everyone else knows about you, and a little bit more. Nothing about you, personal stuff."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, "What is it you'd like to know, then?"

She is slightly surprised he'll allow questions, she's even more surprised she has so many to ask. Maybe it's the fact that he treats her like an adult, he even lets her drink wine with him. She doesn't like the taste, but she drinks it anyway, every time she's with him. Tonight she's had nearly four glasses, and a few sips of her fifth. Her face is hot and she's sure it's flushed. She doesn't feel young around Hannibal, he doesn't treat her like a traumatized child. He lets her speak and make up her own mind, instead of acting like she doesn't know what she wants out of life. He lets her have control of things, and now she wants to know about him. She wants to know why he's so very different than everyone else. Will and Alana are simple, though she knows they have her best interest at heart. They treat her like their child, or more like a wounded animal, maybe even a delicate teacup that will break if they speak too loud. Not Hannibal, not once had he made her feel that she wasn't her own person, a person that wasn't destroyed by everything that had happened.

"Why do you let me spend so much time with you?" It seems like a safe place to start. He looks back down at his work.

"You enjoy being with me and I enjoy your company," he answers simply, his eyes not looking up.

"You don't have any family? No children? No wife? No parents, or siblings maybe?" He looks up again then, and for a split second she swears he looks sad before his expression is neutral once again.

"No children, and no I never married. My parents died when I was very young, as did my sister. Other than that I've never contacted any distant family to keep in touch," it makes her sad, but he's being honest and she doesn't want him to close her out again.

"I'm sorry," and she really is. He's back to smiling again, but he leaves it at that and continues his cutting on a new piece of meat.

There's an awkward silence, and she isn't sure if it's a good idea to continue asking more. He breaks the silence, "Was that all you wanted to know?"

She's surprised, but she jumps at the opportunity, "What's your favorite color? Favorite animal?"

He laughs slightly, and the sound makes her heart jump. "You have a certain charm to you, Abigail. I enjoy warm colors, reds and blues. Big cats would probably be my favorite animals; lions, tigers, jaguars."

She finds herself grinning at him, "And yours?"

It's such a simple conversation, and she's pleased she made such a complicated man have it with her, "Green is my favorite color and I love dolphins." She's practically giddy that he's participating.

"May I ask what sparked your sudden interest in my personal life?" he doesn't sound angry, just curious. He sets his work down finally, and turns to wash his hands.

"I was just thinking about how you don't treat me like anyone else, and nothing you do is like anyone else. I just want to know about you more than everyone else knows," she finds she can never lie to him, she can't be anything but one hundred percent honest. He doesn't give her a reason not to, he never judges or gets angry over her answers.

"Well, I'm nearly certain no one knows most of that information." She takes another sip of her wine, and her vision is a little blurry. She can't tell if her voice is different, but she feels different. She feels in control, the way she lead the conversation. The way he lets her play with knives, and lets her decide what she wants to eat. She is walking around the counter before she can really think about what she's doing, and her legs wobble slightly under her. She's standing directly behind him, and when he finishes drying his hands and turns around, there's less than an inch of space between them. He's looking down at her, and she can smell him. He smells like uncooked food, spices, and a hint of something else; it makes her mouth water. She stands up on her toes, placing her hands on his chest to steady herself, and plants her lips on his. She can feel his heart beating gently under his chest, and suddenly she's determined to find what makes his heart pound. The light kiss turns a little more forceful; the way his lips are moving slowly against hers spurs her further. Her hands slid down to his ribs, feeling them expand slightly with each calm breath he takes through his nose. She peaks through her lids and is pleased to find that his eyes are at least closed; it's a start. She's never seduced a man before, and she can't imagine seducing a man like Hannibal would be easy. Getting his heart pounding would take a little more work, and she was more than willing to work for it.

She's in control, she reminds herself, and her hands come up to tangle in his hair and pull him down. She backs up, pulling him with her by his head, until her back his the island in the middle of the room where he'd been cutting food not to long ago. She keeps their lips locked, forcing him to step even closer to her, his hands coming up to rest on the edge of the table on ether side of her. She isn't sure where to go from there- kissing had been the as far as she'd gone. She tries to deepen it more, moving her lips more forcefully against his; one hand grasping the back of his neck tightly and the other still in his hair. She's surprised by how soft it is, and she pulls it slightly. The need to breathe forces her to break their lips apart, and his travel to her neck. He nuzzles the scarf aside, and licks the angry looking scar on her neck. He sucks on it until she's panting and her legs are weak. His body is so warm, and he pushes it against her more, his left hand leaving the table to rest on the small of her back. She manages to reach behind him and undo his apron, even untuck his shirt enough for her to slip her hand up the back of it. His skin is warm, and she brushes her fingers over the muscles as they move beneath his skin- it's the most wonderful thing she'd ever felt.

"This is unwise Abigail; unethical," his voice is quiet against her neck, but his lips continue their work.

She tilts her head to give him better access, "We can stop if you want." She really doesn't want him to.

"That is entirely up to you, we can do whatever you'd like." The words thrill her, and all she wants is to make his mask slip. She wants to watch him come apart, she wants to be the one to make it happen. She brings her back up and turns it towards him, pushing his face away from her neck with her cheek and latching her lips onto his neck instead. She's as gentle as he was, scrapping her teeth against his skin lightly.

"If it's up to me, I want to know what you like," her voice sounds stronger than she feels. She whispers the words directly into his ear, and he's quiet for a moment while she continues on his neck.

She feels his throat flex when she smiles, and she's officially fascinated with his body. "You can do whatever you'd like," he repeats, and it doesn't answer her question, but she doesn't care. The urge strikes, and she sinks her teeth into his neck without warning. He stiffens against her, but doesn't pull away. She pulls her face back to admire his reddened neck, and reaches up to unbutton his shirt.

"Whatever I'd like?" she repeats, untucking the bottom of his shirt in the front to undo the last few buttons. The alcohol is making her bolder, more confident. His bare chest is toned, and she runs her fingers through the hair. His heartbeat hasn't changed, and she lets her fingers brush his nipple right above it.

"You've never seen a nude man before," it isn't a question, but when she looks up at his face he's curious. She knows he reads her like a book, and the way her fingers are examining his skin, marveling at the structure of the muscles underneath, is a dead give away.

"Not really, not like this" and suddenly she feels like a child again and she lets her hands slip away from his chest. He catches it quickly, bringing it to his lips for a brief kiss before he places it back on his chest.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," his voice is kind, and her fingers trail down to the line of hair on his stomach, leading out of sight under his pants. She briefly wonders if he's ticklish before his mouth is on hers again. His kiss is needy, and it excites her. He's pushing her more forcefully against the table, and her hands feel for the front buckle of his pants. He doesn't stop her from opening it, but his hands come up to brush up and down her sides. "Though it does seem slightly unfair that you're far more clothed than I am," he adds against her lips right before he leans back.

She clears her throat nervously as he undoes the scarf before taking the bottom of her sweater in his hands. He must sense she's nervous, because he hesitates, "You can say stop whenever you want Abigail, this is entirely up to you."

"Can we be in your bedroom?" The question comes out before she can think, yet once again he surprises her. He picks her up, his hands on the back of her thighs. She clings to his neck as he kisses her again, and she feels them moving. Her eyes are closed until she feels him gently place her on a bed, and she can't help but be impressed by how gentle he's being with her. It's sweet, he's genuinely sweet. She can imagine he's even romantic; how he's alone, she doesn't know. He's leaning over her now, his body between her legs. She slips the shirt off his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor without breaking from their kiss. His hands are under her sweater, brushing against her stomach and sides; it makes her squirm beneath him.

She pushes him back, pulling her shirt over her head in the same motion. Any nerves she had are gone now, and she wants him to stop being so gentle. He keeps eye contact with her while she unhooks her bra and it joins their shirts on the floor. He's such a gentleman, as great as it is, she needs him to let go. She's in control, she remembers, and her hands grasp his head and pushes it down to be eye level with her chest. He responds just how she wants, sucking and biting at her nipple until she's making noises in her throat. "Come up on the bed all the way," she says breathily, and he obeys and they slide into the middle before he continues. She's conflicted between pushing him further or letting him decide what he wants to do. Is he even comfortable with this, is this what he wants? As if he reads her mind, his mouth goes lower, trailing kisses all the way down to the top of her jeans while his skilled fingers undo the button and the zipper in one swift movement. Her hearts beating wildly already, anticipating his next move. She feels his hand slip below the denim and into her panties, and she moans embarrassingly loud. He doesn't seem to notice, his fingers rubbing her in a way she's never felt before.

"You can say stop whenever you feel you feel you want to," his voice doesn't sound so strong anymore, and her hips jerk slightly against his hand.

"Don't stop," is all she says, and he uses both hands to slip off her bottoms. She sits up before he can lean back down, and reaches to finish undoing his pants. She keeps expecting him to suddenly put an end to this, to realize what they're doing and pull her hands away. Instead he rolls onto his back next to her, and she's leaning over him as she undoes his slacks. His belly is rising and falling a little faster, and she feels a rush when she pulls his slacks down and he lifts himself off the bed to help her. She looks at his cock through his briefs, and it looks intimidating already. She swallows thickly, reaching down to trace the obvious outline through the fabric. "Have you been with a lot of women?"

She's not sure why she asks, but she looks up at him and their eyes meet, "Depends on what you consider a lot, but I haven't been with anyone recently." For some reason, his answer gives her even more courage. She leans down to kiss his navel, her tongue tracing the top of the fabric. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, I'm not expecting anything from you Abigail." She knows he's not, and that makes her want to do it more. She pulls the front of the briefs down, freeing him from the confines of his. She'd seen pictures, and movies even, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. Her finger traces down the slit at the tip, and he inhales sharply. She smiles up at him innocently and licks the underside of his shaft. He's too quiet, and she switches to gentle nibbles on his delicate skin. His legs twitch slightly, and she marvels at the muscles in his thighs. He's certainly not what she's used to, he is far from a boy. It's exhilarating, and she needs him to see her as an adult in all ways. She wants to be his equal here, and she has to throw caution to the wind. She takes him in her mouth, working her tongue in a way that seems natural. He's completely silent, until her wandering fingers take his sack in her hand. It's quiet, so quiet she's almost sure she hadn't heard it, but a quiet moan vibrates through his body. She's proud of herself, and she crawls back up his body to kiss him. It's not gentle by any means, and she sinks her teeth into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He flinches, then gasps when she sucks the blood from his bottom lip.

Somewhere in her heart, she knows what he is. She knows violence does something to him, and it must translate to every aspect of his life. In the only psychology class she'd ever taken in high school, they'd only briefly covered people who have pleasure and pain crossed in their head. She hadn't thought much about it, until right now. When he opens his eyes, his eyes are dark; his expression is intense. "You like it rough, don't you?" She already knows his answer, but his swelling bottom lip tugs up into a half smile.

"You're far too inexperienced to do what I like, Abigail. I wouldn't put you in that position," she knows he's right, but his answer makes her angry. She doesn't like hearing he thinks she's inexperienced, even if she is. Determined, she kisses him with bruising force just as he opens his mouth to speak again. Her fingers come up and pinch his nipple, and his hands finally come up to run up and down her back. She breaks the kiss and bites his neck again, "I was going to say don't make this about me, make it about you and that you're doing a fine job."

"My dad used to say men are like animals and they can get off to anything," she says against his neck, and she feels his throat vibrate as he laughs.

"I do have to agree with that, most men aren't hard to arouse," he leaves it at that, and she can feel his erection throbbing against her thigh. He's being too gentle, too kind, too much of a gentleman. She senses that she wont be able to change that, he wont use force with her. She shouldn't have said she'd never done this before. She wants to ask him more questions, she wants to know what gets him going the best; yet she suspects he wont give her a straight answer anyway. That in mind, she sinks down onto him suddenly, and he lets a breath out through his mouth and she gasps at the pain. His hands still on her back, holding her against his chest. It hurts, bad enough that she doesn't want to move. He rolls them over carefully, resting on top of her again without pulling out of her. She's afraid she'll cry, and she suddenly regrets ever starting this. "Are you alright? We can stop," his tone isn't angry, and his concern makes her want to keep going. She rocks herself up against him, the slight movement making her wince in pain. His eyes flutter closed, and she moves against him again.

"I don't want to stop," she hates how her voice shakes.

He presses a kiss to her lips again, and he moves against her slowly, "It'll stop hurting, are you on..?"

"I take it for cramps," she says breathlessly, and he moves again, tucking his head into her neck. He's right, the sharp pain is dimming with each movement he makes, and she doesn't want him to move so slowly. She moves against him, her hands clutching to his shoulder blades; her nails digging into his skin hard enough to slice through the skin. It doesn't bother him, but it does spur his movements. She wants to see his face, and she tugs at his hair and tries to roll them over. He lets her, and his face is comfortable, more comfortable than she'd ever seen him before. She knows the noises she's making should embarrass her, but she just rocks against him, her hands supported on his chest. She tests the angles, determining what feels best, determining what he likes by the way his face slightly changes. His hands are gentle on her hips, not guiding her movements but simply holding onto her. Without thinking, her hands slide up from their perch on her chest and into his hair, then back down his face to rest on his neck. His expression changes again, his mouth falling open slightly when she squeezes slightly.

Just when she's about to let go, he tilts his head back and she holds onto his neck harder. He's pushing up underneath her, and the pain is gone all together and she's panting. He's breathing much harder, and as his throat expands and constricts beneath her hand she smiles down at him and clamps down harder. It's just her breaths now, they sound like they're echoing off the walls around them. His chest and face start to turn red, and she releases him slightly until she can hear tiny gasps of air leave his lungs. Determined to push him, she leans down and bites his ear, tightening her hold on his neck as hard as she can. His movements become frantic, and suddenly she's on her back and he's moving inside her much faster. She holds on, crying out his name over and over again until she can't take the building heat anymore and rushes through her like nothing she's ever felt before. She's floating, and he's still moving against her roughly for a few more seconds before his breath catches in his throat and his body stiffens against her when the heat inside him bursts. She forces her eyes open to watch him come apart, his body shuddering and his eyes tightly shut. She's surprised he's been so quiet, her hand slithering down curiously to grasp the bottom of his shaft. His eyes open widely, his mouth open as she squeezes it gently. "Careful, Abigail." His voice is quiet, and he gently slips out of her. Her hand slips up and down his now slippery shaft, and he catches her hand and brings it back up, "Don't overdo it, that's not pleasant either," he says gently, resting against her gently. He's clasping her hand, and she plays with his fingers as he breathes deeply against her. Her body is weak, and she's tired, very tired. He smells wonderfully, and his hair is wet with sweat. She's fascinated, her hands exploring his upper arms and his damp hair.

"That was wonderful," and he laughs against her skin.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," and he rolls off of her and lays next to her. "You must get cleaned up, would you like me to help?" Ever the gentleman, he stands up and she follows, her legs wobbling slightly.

"I just need a shower, unless you're going to wash my hair for me," she means it sarcastically, but he cleans himself up with a handkerchief.

"If you'd like me to, I would gladly," she feels light, weightless. He's so handsome, she admires the way his body moves as he pulls his briefs back on.

"I'll be alright." She always expected the time after sex to be awkward, but he's completely polite, and strangely loving. She's still naked, yet his eyes remain on her face and he smiles gently.

"You know where the bathroom is, then I can take you back to the hospital if you'd prefer. Of course you can stay here if you'd like, plenty of room." His voice is light, calm. She always imagined she'd feel shy, but the way he looks at her she feels sexy.

"I'll stay with you," she feels overly confident, walking right to his dresser and pulling out a pair of boxers, "Can I borrow these?" His eyebrows are up, surprised by her.

"I insist you do," he says smoothly, and she grabs her sweater off the floor and goes to shower. She feels the best she'd ever felt before, rinsing her body off and popping the lid of the liquid soap and inhaling the scent. It smells like Hannibal, and it's delicious. She hurries, wanting to return to him. She showered maybe ten minutes, but when she returns the sheets are changed, their clothes are gone and his hair is wet; silk pajama pants covering his legs. "I showered in the other bathroom," he says lightly, laying down on the bed. It feels natural, the way she climbs in next to him and snuggles under the plush comforter. She doesn't wait for him to open his arms, she wraps herself around him and rests on his chest.

"Another secret for us," she whispers, closing her eyes in the darkness. She can feel his heart strumming away against his ribs, and she turns to place a kiss over it.

"I told you we'd have many secrets," he replies, running his fingers through her wet hair.

"Will there be more, like this one?"

He doesn't answer right away, and she's afraid she said something wrong, "If that's what you'd like. You're a young woman Abigail, you're more than capable of deciding what you want."

"But what do you want?" She wants him to want her, badly.

"Whatever makes you happy, that's what I want. I enjoyed myself, but you have to rest now, Abigail. Don't worry about nightmares, I'll stay with you." She doesn't say anything else, though she wants to tell him thank you, she wants to tell him she loves him, but she knows it'll be too much. It'll chase him away, so instead she just closes her eyes, and she's more tired than she thought because she's sleeping within a few minutes.


End file.
